


A Debt

by TheWeepingMonk



Series: Fictober20 [5]
Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27089131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWeepingMonk/pseuds/TheWeepingMonk
Summary: Pym isn't a fighter, not really. She fancied herself a healer and though she'd been roped into learning sword techniques with Squirrel, the last place she belonged was a battlefield.or in which Pym saves the Red Spear in battle and gets a reward she wasn't expecting
Relationships: Pym/Red Spear | Guinevere (Cursed)
Series: Fictober20 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969324
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	A Debt

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](https://fictober-event.tumblr.com/post/628547358001594368/fictober-event-the-prompts-for-2020%20rel=)

Pym isn't a fighter, not really. She fancied herself a healer and though she'd been roped into learning sword techniques with Squirrel, the last place she belonged was a battlefield. 

Yet here she was in the thick of it, her friends and allies battling with Pendragon's men all around her.

She deflects the blade of a man charging towards her, but the force of him sends her flying back. He tries to stab her, but Lancelot catches his blade, quickly disarming him and running him through with his sword. 

Pym slumps in relief.

Lancelot offers her his hand, blue eyes piercing as ever. "Remember what I said about planting your feet."

She takes his hand, and allows him to pull her to her feet. "It's not so easy when I've got these big oafs coming after me."

"Perhaps you should stick with the Red Spear," he suggests. "She's thinned out the men in her area."

"Right, which way is she?"

Lancelot nods to his right, expression free of judgment for what many would perceive as cowardice. "Be safe. We'll need all our healers when this is done."

Pym nods, squeezing his hand before letting go. She runs through the grassy field until she finds the Red Spear and her warriors scattered about. 

Pym stops shorts of them to catch her breath and look around properly. Lancelot was right, there _were_ less Pendragon soldiers over here. It's as she's looking around that she spots a large man charging across the battlefield.

He's got a flail in hand and is making a beeline for the Red Spear. 

Pym doesn't think twice, running towards her ally in an instant, yelling out for her to move, but she's too busy fighting to hear her. She reaches her just in time to push her out of the way, but the spiked iron ball whips across _her_ back instead.

The pain is intense and immediate, the flail cutting through her tunic and catching on her skin. Pym cries out and slumps to her knees.

She isn't sure what happens next, but she thinks maybe the Red Spear takes care of him just as she falls forward and passes out.

Maybe if she hadn't leant Dof's necklace to Squirrel that day she would've gotten away unscathed by Sigurd's blessing. 

_♢♢♢_

"Ah! Ah! Ahhh! _Careful!"_ Pym exclaims as Lancelot finishes cutting off her shirt. He's already put a generous amount of salve on her back for the pain, but any bit of movement didn't feel too nice.

"Sorry," he says lowly, then, "I'll find you a loose tunic."

Pym hums in acknowledgement and he leaves her. The salve would need to sit for awhile and then they would wrap bandages around her. 

She's alone for only a few moments when she hears the tent flaps open. She turns curiously. "Find one already?" She asks, presuming it to be Lancelot. 

Instead, she finds the Red Spear walking in, noticeably confused by the question. 

"Oh," Pym says. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"You saved my life today," she says as if it was obvious. 

"Well, trust me, I’m _not_ doing that again," Pym mutters miserably, back aching with the memory. "I don't think I'd survive it."

She walks in further until she's standing over Pym, eyes raking over the cuts and bruises littering her upper back. 

Despite all she's seen, Pym never would've guessed that one well aimed hit from a flail could do so much damage. 

"You showed real courage today," the Red Spear tells her, finally moving her gaze from Pym's back to her eyes, "And now I am in your debt."

"No debt," Pym says. "I'm just glad you're safe." And she meant it. Though they weren't particularly close, she did admire the other woman. All her skill and beauty.

There's a hint of a smile on her lips as she says, "Honorable, but things are a bit different for Danes. When someone saves your life, they owe you a debt equal to it."

"So, what? I don't get a choice?" Pym asks. 

"Just name something," she urges, though not unkindly. 

Pym considers the debt, unsure what could equate to someone's life.

"Did you have to walk the Monk through this?" the Red Spear questions, gesturing to her back.

"Yes. He's a fast learner." She answers distractedly. It's as she's staring at the other woman that she finally thinks of something. "It can be _anything?"_ She asks. 

"Anything within my power, present or future."

"Tell me your name."

She tilts her head, eyes narrowed. "My name isn't worth a life."

"Isn't it?" Pym challenges. "You won't tell it to anyone."

The Red Spear studies her a moment, eyes lit with amusement. "If I tell you, it must be kept a secret."

Pym nods.

She hesitates briefly, then reluctantly says, "My name is Guinevere."

Pym blinks in surprise. "Not what I was expecting, but it's pretty."

"You think?" 

"Yeah. It's _strong_ too... _Queen Guinevere, taker of the Ice King's throne_....It demands respect, doesn't it?"

Guinevere looks almost stunned. 

"What? I was on a ship with you for months screaming at me for being a shit healer. I know your plans. You practically tell them to any who will listen."

Guinevere huffs in amusement. "Well, for the record, you're as shit a warrior as you are a healer."

"You're alive aren't you?"

"Yes, but almost at the expense of your life...maybe you _should_ stick to healing after all...You _have_ to get better eventually."

Pym rolls her eyes fondly. 

The tent flaps rustle and a moment later Lancelot steps in carrying a white tunic. He spares a glance to Guinevere, then to Pym says, "I wasn't having much luck finding a spare tunic so I got you one of mine."

"Thank you."

"Is it time for the bandages?" He questions. 

"Yeah," Pym answers as she sits up, the unripped half of her shirt clinging to her front. She grunts, her body protesting the movement, but she powers through and sits herself up. 

"Perhaps I should do the bandages?" Guinevere suggests as Pym starts to remove her shirt. 

Lancelot grabs the bandages from the table and hands them to Guinevere without question. "I'll check in with the other healers," he tells Pym. 

It's kind of a relief actually. Pym trusted Lancelot and though it would've only been a medical necessity, she was glad not to have to partially expose herself to him. 

Pym pulls off her shirt, face heating because it still felt awkward being half-naked in front of somebody, man or woman. 

Guinevere steps forward, urging Pym to hold her arms up so she can hold one end of the wrap near her armpit, the wrap curling under her arm to go around her back. She starts wrapping the bandages around Pym with relative ease, a silence filling the tent as she works, flitting around Pym as needed. 

Suddenly, she lingers right in front of Pym's face, pulling on the bandage to make it tighter across her chest. Her warm breath ghosting over Pym's cheek. 

Pym blinks, struck by a warm feeling that quickly takes root and makes it hard to breathe. Guinevere's too close. She's beautiful, and warm and _way_ too close.

Pym's heart stutters as she feels Guinevere's fingertips brush against her side while she ties off the bandages. She can't help the way her gaze lingers on Guinevere's face, on the piercings, the curve of her mouth and the focused look in her dark brown eyes. 

Guinevere catches her staring, and pauses, a curious glint in her eyes. "Have you thought of something else you want besides my name?"

Pym blushes, and she isn't sure where all this extra courage is coming from today, but she says, "There is _one_ thing."

"Name it."

"A kiss."

Guinevere smirks at that. "My life for only a name and a kiss...I'm almost insulted."

Pym chuckles, the sound cut short as Guinevere leans in, face inches from hers. 

Guinevere hovers in her space. "One kiss and my debt is clear."

Pym nods dumbly.

Guinevere's smirk grows bigger. She pulls Pym into a rough kiss, that softens as they shift and adjust to the feel of each other. Pym's hand settles on the back of Guinevere's neck, keeping her close, but it's not long before Guinevere pulls away.

"One kiss for the debt," she says, then, "and one because I like your spirit," before kissing her again. 

Pym hums in acknowledgement, her hand curling in the back of Guinevere's hair and pulling her closer to deepen the kiss. It's slow and sweet and everything Pym never knew she wanted. 

Pym makes the mistake of pulling Guinevere half on top of her, and falls flat on her back. She groans unhappily, pain flaring sharply. 

Guinevere grabs her hands and pulls her back into a sitting position. "Perhaps we should continue this another time?" 

Pym nods, face half scrunched in pain. 

Guinevere kisses her nose, causing her to blink in surprise, and unscrunch her face. "Find me when you need your bandages changed."

Pym smiles. "I will... _Guinevere."_

Guinevere actually _smiles_ \- not smirks, _smiles_ \- before leaving Pym to herself. 

Pym's still smiling long after she's gone, fingers pressed to her lips in awe when Lancelot walks in. 

"Pym?"

"Huh?" She asks, meeting his gaze. 

"The tunic," He says with a frown.

Pym looks down and realizes she never put it on. She scrambles to pull it on, and jumps to her feet. It hangs down her body like a dress. 

"How tall _are_ you?" She asks incredulously. 

"...It's all I could find..." 

Pym shakes her head. "Squirrel's right, you _are_ a tree."

Lancelot huffs, and then they spend the rest of the afternoon picking up the slack of the other healers. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought of this!


End file.
